Juice
by robotphobic
Summary: Mystique wanted a quiet morning alone at the diner, to sip orange juice and relax. But Wolverine thinks they need to talk... Post-X2.


Sunlight streamed in through the miniblinds, flooding the cream-colored tabletops with light. Raven Darkholme sat at a booth in the back, her fingertips occasionally wiping the condensation off of the glass of orange juice sitting contentedly before her. She had invited Erik to come with her, to escape the habits of the every day and just relax together, and she had looked at him with playful golden eyes and a charming smirk as she'd offered to treat for pancakes. He'd declined gracefully, however, smiling in his tired way and murmuring, "Every woman needs her space, my dear." Her gifts offered her so much solitude that Erik's company was nearly always a welcome reprieve from loneliness, but this time, he had been right. Wearing the face of a forgotten Estee Lauder model, pleasant but indeed forgettable, Mystique was enjoying what was turning out to be a much-needed bout of peaceful silence. Leaning back into the glossy but comfortable upholstery of the booth's seat and sipping juice, she was in an unusually splendid mood when Logan walked in.  
  
The problem with the Wolverine, among, of course, many other problems, was that he was incapable of simply being somewhere. He had to own the spaces he entered, just as some tomcats need to mark every yard that they pass; merely passing through was not an option. Logan was by no means a tall man, but he carried himself like a proud combination of pit bull and bodyguard, and made damned sure that everyone in the room knew that he was fully able and willing to exterminate them. It was, in Raven's opinion, a crude, foolish, and yet somehow strangely desirable quality in a man. There was a rawness to him that she herself could never possess, and after a century of living lies, she found it rather refreshing. Of course, she reminded herself, this is no way nullified how ridiculous he looked as his gaze roamed the small diner, silently challenging anyone it ran into. She looked back at her orange juice and tried not to think about the thick white scars on her belly.  
  
He sat down at the counter, hunched over a greasy breakfast menu as if someone might try to snatch it from him, and Mystique's eyes darted back towards him, taking in the jacket, the jeans, the boots. Her gaze lingered on his sturdy figure, tracing the lines of the frame beneath the clothing. She had worn that body once, and had also, more recently, failed in an attempt to seduce that body, the memory of which still made her snicker self-consciously from time to time. It had been half payback and half pleasure, which Raven considered to be by far the richest combination of all emotions, and she drew no small amusement from watching the way that his body moved now. She was certain that he could sense he was being watched; the muscles in his shoulders flickered tensely as his nostrils flared, and his eyes scanned the diner in a rather hungry fashion. He was so much like Victor... She swallowed hard and looked away, forcing the memories from her mind and concentrating on her juice glass. She ran a fingertip absently down its side, leaving a stripe in the condensation, and, after a moment, realized he was walking towards her.  
  
He stopped uncomfortably close to her table, and looked down at her. She looked up to meet his gaze, flashed him a smile that would have been distinctly hers on any face, and watched the last hint of doubt fade from his features. He sat down unbidden across from her, and rested his elbows on the table, cracking his knuckles. The white marks between them were faintly visible, she noticed, as if he kept light scars there as a reminder of what lay beneath. The two stared at each other for a moment, and, when she felt it was becoming tedious, Raven allowed her eyes to revert to their natural gold. It worked; Logan looked away, which somehow still stung her in a small way. Looking back at her, he licked his lips. "So, you're, ah, wondering how I knew it was you?"  
  
"Not particularly," she muttered, taking a sip of her juice and returning her eye color to Estee Lauder blue. "I didn't bother altering my scent, after all."  
  
He ran a hand through his tousled hair, took a breath, and tried again. "It's still strange, you know, hearin' you use a voice that's not yours like that."  
  
She shrugged vaguely, glancing out the window at the parking lot, where a mother was helping a very small boy out of a minivan. The boy protested briefly about something, waving a plastic toy soldier in the air, then sighed in defeat and was lifted down to the pavement. Mystique looked back at the man across from her. He was obviously struggling to put together just the right phrase to express something, and she had always found it somewhat painful to watch silent men search for words. She drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "Logan, whatever you came over here to tell me or to hear, I don't think that--"  
  
"You did good, back at Alkali Lake," he interrupted, running his hand through his hair again. He paused, awkwardly, and Mystique realized that she was speechless. This was.. unexpected. "You, ah.. Well, you did good," Logan repeated lamely, looking away as though that he had not entirely said what he had meant to, and would kick himself for it later.  
  
They sat in silence as she wondered what in the name of God had inspired him to walk over and, of all things, compliment her. After a few moments of consideration, she ventured, "I heard about Jean." Wolverine's jaw clenched, and she immediately regretted her words. "I really was sorry to hear about her, Logan... We never meant for anything like that to happen."  
  
He looked back up at her spitefully. "I know how you saw her," he spat out, getting to his feet. The hairs on the back of his neck seemed to bristle. "I shouldn'ta come over here."  
  
Her hand instinctively reached out, her fingers catching his thick wrist. "Wait a minute."  
  
He looked down at her with narrowed eyes, his gaze dropping to his wrist before returning to her face.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, more or less sincerely meaning it. "About.. a lot of things." She pulled her hand back, wrapping her fingers around the juice glass and thinking. She looked up at him, a dry smile haunting her features. "Please. Sit back down."  
  
He reluctantly sat.  
  
Gathering her strength around a strange desire to smooth things over this time, rather than simply walk away, she looked across the table at him with golden eyes and tried to explain. He'd come over here, and he'd spoken first; he deserved an explanation. "What I.. did to you, in your, ah, tent," she began, picking her words carefully, "was.. well... There's no excuse for what I did." Another deep breath. Another swallowed bit of pride. "I'm afraid that it's somewhat instinctive to me, Wolverine, and after our little incident at Liberty Island..."  
  
She watched comprehension slowly dawn on him. "Wanted to pay me back, huh?" There was a hint of a smirk on his lips, which she found encouraging.  
  
"Something like that," she agreed with another distinctively Mystique grin, her natural eyes sparkling as she realized that this might not be so bad, after all. "Although..." Her gaze roamed meaningfully across his torso, and her grin broadened.  
  
His smile was genuine now. "None o' that, now, ma'am."  
  
"'Ma'am'.. I like that from you." Her grin was playful and devious, and his gruff little laugh offered even more encouragement.  
  
"You know," he suggested after a moment, "if you wanted to give the white hat thing a try, Chuck would take ya in." He had obviously given this a good deal of consideration, and was speaking far more carefully than usual. "Much as it pains me t'say it, lady, you're talented. And if he can help me, well.. he could probably help you, too."  
  
Her grin faded to a dry, sad smile. "No. No, I don't think he could." She silenced his protests with a gesture. "It doesn't matter. I enjoy working with Erik too much to walk Xavier's path." The smile broadened again. "Besides, if I fought on your side, I might not get the chance to really fight you again... and that really would be a pity." Mystique leaned in closer to him. "I do cherish my scars, you know."  
  
Something unreadable flickered across his features, and she decided that it was better to leave than to risk watching him say something else he might regret. Pulling away from him, she rose to her feet. "I should get back to Erik," she said, putting a five-dollar bill under her juice glass to cover her bill before looking back at the man who had once nearly killed her. "So, ah.. I take it this means no hard feelings, then?" There was a smirk, but he didn't see it.  
  
Logan shook his head, wishing vaguely that he could see her in her true form, and thinking simultaneously that he was no longer as hungry for greasy breakfast food as he had thought he was. "Nah. Maybe there should be, but... Well, I'm not gonna enjoy killing you nearly as much as I'd thought I was, now."  
  
"And when were you planning on disposing of me this time, Logan?" she asked, amused.  
  
He looked up at her with a wry little smile. "Guess you'll just hafta see, huh?"  
  
"Guess so." Her smile this time was genuine. "Have a good morning, and-- give my best to that Nightcrawler." The smile quivered for just a moment, and then she was gone.  
  
Wolverine watched her out the front windows until she was out of sight, then leaned back into the glossy but comfortable upholstery of the booth. After a moment's consideration, he drained the remainder of her orange juice, and stared down vacantly at the empty glass.  
  
--fin-- 


End file.
